Loosening Shackles, or
by Paersephone
Summary: ... How She Learned to Stop Caring. Hermione Granger divorces Ronald Weasley and it is not pretty. She soon finds herself in a questionable company and decides she doesn't want to give a damn about appearances, propriety and what the Wizarding World thinks of her anymore. T for language and occasional violence. WIP
1. Chapter 1

_Hi! Welcome! Take a seat, make yourself comfortable! I'm writing Dramione again. It's been a long, long while really, about ten years since I last wrote Dramione. That's quite nice. I enjoy it so far. This chapter contains a bit of violence and it's a darkish Hermione, too, that doesn't want to become the Queen of All Things Evil but really just wants to be left in peace. I will add TWs if things get darker later on. I hope you like this though! It'll be lighter than any Tomione I've ever written and sometimes, writing silly fluff makes me feel good. _

_Also, English is not my first language and I'm not quite perfect at it. Mind you, I'm not perfect at my own native language either. So, despite Grammarly's best efforts, there might be some grammar mistakes here and there. Please feel free to tell me if you find one and I'll gladly correct it and learn from it. Enjoy! _

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Divorce, it seemed, was as complicated and lonely in the Wizarding World as in the Muggle World.

It had been two great years, she thought. Followed by a not-so-great year, and then an awful one. Four years of marriage, ending in treacherous paperwork and snide comments and family dinners she was not invited to anymore.

Thank Merlin they hadn't made a child. That would have rendered the whole ordeal even more complicated. Especially when Molly Weasley was involved.

When they had announced it, Harry had been sad but understanding. He had probably seen it coming. She had been the one who had initiated it, and Ron had made sure it was obvious. He had taken the pained, angry behaviour again, and she had wanted to hex him so bad her jaw had been too tight and her teeth had ached afterwards.

He had insisted on them telling his family together, one last time, as he put it. It had just been another way of punishing her, and she had seen it coming but had indulged him. One last time.

The papers were finally signed, the bond was broken, and part of her once almost-family did not want to see her again. George had been nice enough. Bill as well. But Charlie, Percy and Ginny did not want to see her again, ever. After more than ten years of friendship, it still stung, especially Ginny's reaction.

But the slap had been too much and she just didn't love him anymore.

Hermione sighed in her glass of wine, pushing a lock of hair away. It was quite late and she had found herself in this new, fancy bar that had just opened on the Alley, dragged there by her coworkers. But they had not really included her in the conversation and she hadn't felt like this was her place anyway, so she had just sipped at her drink in silence while they were working on getting thoroughly sloshed. They had left a few hours ago, and she had remained there, not wanting to get back to this empty, impersonal flat she had gotten just after her separation. Too lonely, too dark, and since Crookshank's death the year before, she missed having a presence there. If Crooks had been there, maybe she would have been able to cope, but he was not, and she was not ready to take another pet just yet.

She finished her glass of elf wine in a long sip, wincing slightly at the bitter taste on her tongue.

"Look at that," a familiar voice drawled behind her. "The recently divorced star Unspeakable."

"Fuck off, Malfoy," she answered without even glancing behind her. She half expected him to obey, but she should have known that he had never obeyed to her and wasn't about to start now.

"Oh, you're pissed, aren't you? I would be, too, if the most stupid man of our year had dumped me like that." He sat on the stool next to her and she turned her head away, not wanting to look at him, or for him to see her face. She felt like she might cry and she didn't want Draco Malfoy to see that.

"Not dumped," she corrected. That was important somehow.

"Right," he retorted, and she could almost hear the smirk in her voice. "Read the papers today, Granger?"

"I don't care about the papers. Just go away." She had read the papers all right. War hero finally divorces grouchy ex-wife and Ronald Weasley finally drops the bushy sidekick! How she had allowed Skeeter to remain a journalist baffled her. Still, the damage was done.

The fact that Harry had not made a statement to leave her alone was painful, too.

"Fuckers, the lot of them," Malfoy then said. She turned to him in surprise as he raised a finger to the barmaid, who dimpled and served him a generous amount of whisky before throwing her a snide look. "Scarface didn't even comment on your behalf, did he? Siding for the Weasel again. I swear, those friendship dynamics of yours were the joke in Slytherin for years. If you wanna know, Granger, they just didn't appreciate you enough. You saved their arses more than I - or they - could count, and still, he always chooses the redheads, doesn't he? Just like Third Year."

"What about third year?" she asked despite herself, putting an elbow on the counter to rest her head on her hand. The elf wine was a bit strong, and the bar seemed a bit fuzzy.

Her vision stabilized and she was able to properly see him. He was clad in velvety black robes, that seemed so soft she was tempted to touch the fabric, lined with forest green. His pale face was as pointy as ever, but it had lost some of its childhood traits, and his hair was slightly mussed, its stray strands falling on his forehead. His grey eyes were trained on his glass with which he was toying absently. At last, his eyes met hers.

She was shocked to see that there was no alienation in them, at least not much. He seemed kind of angry still, the look had not left him since Sixth Year and his horrible ordeal with constantly failing plans and an assignment that had been too much for him. His mouth was set in a slightly bitter line.

"The fucking rat," he said at last. She made a polite inquiring sound and he smirked. "The grown man that slept with that ex-husband of yours, remember him? The one he thought your horrid, orange cat, what was his name again? Had eaten."

"Oh Merlin, Pettigrew," she said with the ghost of a laugh. "And my cat was called Crookshanks and was not horrid. What about the damn rat?"

"They've been pricks to you for months after that, haven't they? And he was not even dead. You were fucking miserable. Of course, I liked that at the time. We all did. Still, Potter didn't really defend his so-called friend, did he? Nothing's changed since then. Oh, he's noble enough. Kept me out of Azkaban, and my mother as well. But he cannot take a fucking stand against his friend, can he? Even when he's being a prick."

Hermione wanted to defend her friend, she really did, but the logic was sound and the memory still a bit painful. He had not been supportive then, barely trying to talk to her. She had been so lonely and sad and burned out that year, she had almost asked her parents to transfer her to Beauxbâtons. Almost. "I guess," she finally said noncommittally. She fought back the tears. "Why are you here again?"

"No reason," he shrugged, boring into her eyes. She knew he saw the tears but he chose to say nothing. "You?"

"My coworkers seemed to think I was in the mood to have a few drinks and dragged me there. It was not very enjoyable and they left a few hours ago. I think one of them actually vomited before leaving, though."

"Questionable company," he sniffed before taking another swing at his whisky.

She laughed. "Oh, because you're a better company?"

"Excuse me, Mrs Wea- I mean, is it Miss Granger again?" a saccharine voice asked to her right. She knew that voice. She wanted to hex that voice. "I was wondering if you could answer a few questions."

Hermione almost let her head fall on the counter. Almost. But she drew her back straighter and looked at the reporter with all her war-hero might. It didn't do anything.

"Ms Skeeter, how delightful," she said in a flat, emotionless voice. "I was wondering when you'd show your antennae."

Skeeter did not seem disturbed in the slightest by her cold greeting. "This is the day the divorce has been finally pronounced, isn't it? How are you taking it? Mr Malfoy, what are you doing with Miss Granger here? Are you rebounding, Granger?"

"Skeeter, I will hex you," Hermione warned. She glanced at the reporter's notebook to see it filled with false responses either drawn from her short sentences or her body language. Or both. "If you print any response of mine other than what I just told you, I will press charges to the DMLE. Do you think my name still carries?"

Skeeter smiled sweetly and stored her quill back in her ugly purse. "We'll see, Missy. A pleasure. Mr Malfoy."

She stood up and left and Hermione sighed dramatically.

"Have you enjoyed the show, Malfoy?"

"Very much so," he deadpanned. "I'd like to see her face in Azkaban. The things she wrote about me after the war were not pretty. I hope she'll publish shit on you."

"Fuck off," Hermione snapped. "You don't have to deal with the hate mail."

Malfoy laughed. It was not joyful nor hearty, but a bitter, unamused laugh. "Don't I, Granger? Have you got any idea why I haven't shown my face publicly for more than a year after all this shit? Getting cleared by the Wizengamot hasn't stopped the good British Wizards and Witches from slandering me everywhere else. They still hate me, Granger. They'll probably always hate me. You should get used to it, now that you've dumped the red-haired idiot. Why the divorce, anyway?"

"Not any of your fucking business. But I'm sorry. I should have known." She sighed again and gestured for another drink that was served to her a few seconds later. She took a long swig and tried to get herself to get up and out of this bar, where people were starting to notice who she was with and that she had not yet hexed him brutally like any war hero ought to do with a Death Eater. "This country's shit. Always has been. The way they treated Harry back in Fifth Year… They're stupid and inconsistent and the Ministry's not any better."

"You should know, working there. How's that Unspeakable business going?"

"Terrible." She bit the inside of her cheek and wondered why she talking to him at all. She supposed it was the loneliness and decided to roll with it. "I'm not supposed to talk about it much, and especially not in public."

"Let's leave then." He got up smoothly and tossed a few Galleons on the counter before turning to face her. "Have a walk. Or not."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" he asked and she laughed.

"We can't stand each other, Malfoy. I'm a Mudblood, remember? And you're the Death Eater son." He seemed angry but so was she. "And now, you're being all friendly and you listen to me talking about my problems? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I'm just doing what I wished someone had done for me then," he said forcefully through gritted teeth. "You're drawing attention."

"I don't care," she said a bit louder. "They all hate me anyway. Don't you, you bunch of ungrateful idiots? You hate me because I ditched the Golden Boy's best friend, don't you? Why do you fucking care? Most of you will not ever meet him, most of you don't know him. He's been an arse, has he told the papers that? He's been an arse for years and still, the Muggle-Born is in the wrong, isn't she? I helped save all of you hypocrites from Voldemort," she announced, and she laughed as they all flinched. "I helped save you sodding lot. Try to remember that when you're safe in your little homes and are bitching about me."

Oh, she was utterly pissed, she realized that. But she was making a statement, damn it, and it was more than Harry fucking Potter had done the past six months. She was done. "Go to hell, all of you," she said, louder still. "I should've left you to rot and gone to Australia with my parents."

She left at that, a bit wobbly on her feet. She was a few yards down the street when she almost fell and he caught her by the arm, his touch cool and a bit too strong.

"Let's go somewhere else," he said, his voice level. "I can take you to your place so you can sleep and go to your nice, proper job tomorrow, doing Merlin knows what in the depths of the Ministry." He paused. "Or, I could take you somewhere more private than a bar on the Alley, and introduce you to people that aren't kissing your ex's arse, and you could be a bitch to them, too. They won't mind. They're used to me."

She looked up at him for a few moments, narrowing her eyes, trying to figure out what he had in mind. She didn't want to go home. She didn't want to be alone with him, either. She didn't want to be lonely and sad and hungover tomorrow morning. But was she willing to follow the boy she had despised for years into the snake's den?

"Oh, fuck it. Okay, let's go."

His grip on her arm tightened and he Apparated her away.

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_Reviews are very much appreciated and a balm on my tortured souls. No, really. Thanks for reading so far _


	2. Chapter 2

The place was weird. She had never been there before, and the starry sky cast an eerie light on the fields around her, stretching infinitely towards the horizon. Hermione looked up, and years of Astrology allowed her to find Perseus in no time at all. The moon was bright and barely disturbed by a few clouds, and the stars were almost as visible as they were up in Hogwarts.

"Definitely not London," she muttered to herself.

"Wiltshire," Malfoy said curtly. "But don't worry, we're not at my place. It's an old Muggle inn, in the middle of nowhere. Abandoned. I put a few notice-me-not and Muggle-repelling charms on it and started renovating it after the war. It has booze, and it's private, and my parents don't know about it."

"Needed a place to get away?"

He snorted but didn't answer and opened the door for her.

Despite the fact that, from the outside, the place did seem abandoned, it was dimly lit. The reception was old and a bit dusty, but there were double doors that led to the dining area - or so she assumed. She went in after Malfoy and a few known people were clustered near the bar on a table, apparently pretty drunk themselves.

"The fuck you're doing, Malfoy?" Theodore Nott drawled from his seat, his feet propped on the table. Despite the way he held himself, he still seemed infuriatingly aristocratic. "Why did you bring Granger here?"

"Hello, Nott," she falsely dimpled at him, before walking in as if she owned the place. She knew that, with Slytherins, it was not advised to show any shyness or vulnerability. "He took me here because I needed a place to vent and drink."

"Divorce isn't going so well for you then, Mudblood?" Parkison asked. She was resting her head against the wall, a glass of whisky loosely held in her right hand. Hermione noticed with relief that nobody had drawn their wand.

"Pansy," she nodded. "Not so much."

"Fucking Gryffindors and their honesty," she muttered before standing up and drawing her wand. "Whisky, then?"

"Please," Hermione said, relieved that she was not about to have to defend herself. "Zabini. Greengrass."

"Granger," Greengrass said almost politely, while Zabini just kept his eyes on her.

"So, now that the introductions are done with," Malfoy said while pouring himself a glass of whisky as well and sitting down, "please, enlighten me about the Unspeakable shit being terrible."

Hermione shot him an annoyed glance before sitting down as well. She could tell that the other people in the room were interested in this sentence, exactly as he had planned them to be. But did she owe the Ministry her loyalty, anyway? She was fed up with everything and everyone and especially the false sympathy or outright hostility of her coworkers.

"Well, I'm sure that while at Hogwarts, you read those ridicule pamphlets they handed over about the Ministry careers we could take." Zabini and Nott nodded while Parkinson just snorted and Greengrass didn't react whatsoever. "Well, they made it sound like the Unspeakables were, like, magic researchers or something. They're not. Believe me. It's more about keeping traditions and keeping people from knowing too much about the Trace or the Floo Network. I could tell you stuff about the Floo Network," she laughed half-heartedly. "But really, there are no innovations anymore. I didn't want to go into politics despite Kingsley offering me a spot as undersecretary."

"He really offered you that?" Parkinson asked disbelievingly. "Are you serious? On what grounds? You have no experience in politics. The Wizengamot would've eaten you alive."

"On the grounds that I wanted to— I wanted to keep working on S.P.E.W."

She met blank looks and sighed before drinking her whole tumbler of whisky. "Okay, I'm going to need more drinks if I have to remind you of that."

"Hold on," Nott said with an evil grin, "wasn't that the bullshit you pulled in, what, third or fourth year? About liberating fucking elves?"

She shot him a dirty look and he burst out laughing. "Yeah, that's right. I'm right. Fuck, Granger, you really thought you could pull that off? The elves don't even _want _to be freed."

"Shut up," she snapped. "I actually learned that afterwards. Before Kingsley offered me the job. So I turned it down, after talking things down with him about what a Muggle-Born could do in the Wizengamot."

"Which is nothing," Greengrass interrupted.

"Right. So I'm in training in the Unspeakables and we do some work but it's not interesting at all and it's mostly about refurnishing the Time-Turner room and keeping the prophecies untampered with."

"Aren't you bound to keep their secrets though? Won't you, like, burst into flames because you're telling us Slytherin scum about it?"

"We're supposed to. Most take an oath. I didn't."

"Why?" Malfoy asked, waving his wand for another bottle of whisky to come on their table.

"I didn't want to," she said smugly.

They were not impressed. "So, the war hero gets out of binding oaths because she is a war hero," Nott commented. "Typical."

"Remind me how many perks there are for being Purebloods in our society?" Hermione replied defensively. "And I'm not talking about violently radical, convicted Purebloods."

"Fuck off," Nott muttered.

"Typical," she grinned at him. "So, yeah. A boring, stupid job, a boring, stupid husband, and here am I, getting sloshed with you lot." Her mouth was getting a bit dry and her tongue too heavy. Sloshed was an understatement.

"Draco's whisky is good, though. So, there's that."

She hummed non-commitaly and finished her second drink. "And you? What have you been doing since the war?"

"Society woman, of course," Parkinson replied in an annoyed tone. "What else for the girl who almost sold Potter to the Dark Lord?"

"Are people still giving you shit for that?"

"Yeah. I still get the occasional hate mail from one of your friend's fan club. How I'm a bitch and should die, and how they should rip my uterus off my body to prevent me from breeding mini Death Eaters."

She sounded so unconcerned by all this that Hermione was at loss for words. "What? But… What? You were _seventeen. _And scared because Voldemo- okay, okay, the _Dark Lord_, was about to get into Hogwarts." She shot a dirty look to Malfoy, who had lightly kicked her shin under the table. "Others would have probably said the same thing."

"They didn't, though. I did. I'm not sorry about it, really, I'm just sorry about what it did to my life."

There was not really anything to be said after that so they all drank in silence. Hermione was very, very drunk, but she didn't feel half as bad as she had while in the pub on the Alley. The fact that she didn't even remotely care about what these people thought about her probably helped.

"And you, Nott?" she finally inquired after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"I'm gloriously rich, thus idle," he said simply. "My father died during the Hogwarts battle, so he stopped breathing down my neck. Draco here is pretty much doing the same. Zabini… What are you even doing these days, Zabini?" he asked quizzically, turning to the man sitting left to him.

"Nothing. What did you expect? I party in Italy and rest here before going back. The girls are way funnier in the south. Not like these two that wouldn't let me in their knickers no matter how hard I tried during Hogwarts, what with their disused and old-fashioned pureblood way to keep their virginity until marriage. And you know what's worse, Granger?" he asked, looking at her directly in the eye. "It's that Parkinson here actually didn't wait but fucked Malfoy here. I'm telling you. The girls in the south are magnificent."

"You're a pig, Zabini," Hermione replied in disgust. Greengrass actually toasted her at that, and Parkinson nodded.

"Could be yours, too," he said with a leer. "I'm told Mudbloods don't wait as long."

"Don't make me hex you in the balls."

"I'm starting to understand why Weasley left you," he replied with a smirk.

Hermione stood up so violently that her chair crashed behind her. Her wand was drawn in a heartbeat and trained on Zabini, who stood up as well, faster than she thought he would be since he was so obviously drunk. Both were at wandpoint, and Nott rolled his eyes before tugging Greengrass away, scooting his chair closer to the bar and out of the possible spellfire.

"Don't fucking test me, Zabini," Hermione almost growled. "I'm not in the mood."

"No shit, Granger," he muttered back, his eyes carefully taking her stance in. Hermione's hair was out of control and formed a kind of messy halo around her head, and if she was slightly struggling to balance herself, she didn't show it.

"Care to see what Unspeakables learn on their free time?" she asked almost casually, and Malfoy's eyes went from her to Zabini with annoyance.

"You know what? Sure," Zabini answered with a grin. Hermione raised her eyebrows. She had not expected that. "There are empty fields behind this place. No muggles, no witnesses whatsoever. What do you say, Granger? Five minutes, nothing lethal? Think you can take me?"

"Nothing you can't heal, either," Hermione replied after a short, astounded pause. "And no Unforgivables."

"Unforgivables lack creativity, in my opinion," Greengrass said idly from where she was, almost sitting on Theo Nott's lap. "I say we could use some entertainment."

"Oh, it's on," Zabini said with a feral grin.

* * *

The group of young adults had trekked its way to an empty enough space in the fields. Since it was early November, the wheat in the field was still young, and they didn't have to cut anything down to have an open area for duelling. The air was cold and Hermione's robes felt too light for the weather, but it was refreshing after all the liquor she had drunk.

To be honest, she didn't feel like this was a good idea at all. She also didn't care in the slightest.

Wards were put up, and the spectators carefully stepped away from the circle they had sloppily drawn in the soil. They didn't want to get hit by a stray curse, which was understandable, especially considering they were not in the mood to throw mild spells at each other.

They formally met in the centre of the circle, and they bowed at roughly the same time before turning and taking a few steps to their respective parts of the area. Hermione drew her wand levelly in front of her, noting with pleasure that her hand was not shaking. The visibility was very bad, despite the moon shining above their heads. She would have to make do.

Nott was being the referee for the duel and he signalled for them to begin, setting a timer with his wand. At once, it started.

Hermione sent a powerful stream of fire his way, both to start the duel with a flourish and to see her surroundings better. He blocked it with a powerful shield before wrapping a severe cutting curse around an _Impedimenta._ Oh, he was good. She jumped to the side before conjuring vines that tried to cling to his robes and almost succeeded in throwing him off balance, but he burned them swiftly. Hermione thought about her options while blocking the next nasty curses he sent her way. She had to be creative. This man had dabbled in Dark Magic since school and she couldn't get him with schoolyard jinxes. She threw him a Blasting Curse, followed with a Sectusempra. The first one was blocked, and Zabini tried to deflect the second one but was not quick enough: it grazed his calf, enough to make him stagger, and blood started to seep through his robes, mixing with the mud below their feet. Hermione seized the opportunity to send him a curse of her invention that ripped his fingernails off and he screamed and lost his wand. He fell on his knees.

"And Zabini is disarmed," Nott commented idly and Hermione was oddly remembered of Lee Jordan and she actually laughed, exhilarated by the sheer adrenaline of this fight. She had not duelled like that since the end of the war and the volunteer force put together by the brand new government that she had been a part of and had been in charge of finding and imprisoning the Death Eaters that had managed to flee. She strode towards Zabini who was still cradling his bleeding fingers and injured leg.

"You're good," she said, and she meant it. Her earlier animosity had been fuelled in the spells she had thrown at him and she actually felt better than she had in months. She was better than him, though. "Want me to heal that?"

"What do you think, Granger?" he replied through gritted teeth. She bit down a snicker and held her wand out again, muttering Vulnera Sanentur to deal with the more pressing bleeding of his calf and then the counter curse she had designed as well to make new nails grow on his fingers. "What the hell was that last curse? I've never seen that before."

"That one's mine," she bragged a bit lamely. "I'll teach it to you if you behave."

He looked up at her in the dim light cast by her wand, and she smugly found a hint of respect in his charcoal black eyes that had definitely not been there before. She drew herself up and stood stiffly there, her chin held high and her back so straight even old Aunt Muriel would have been proud. Considering him for a few moments, she ended up pressing her lips together and held out a hand. He eyed her, a bit warily. "Well, _take it_, Zabini," she drawled, and he obeyed, placing his palm in hers. His fingers were long and aristocratic as they came, the skin soft as a child's cheek, while hers were calloused and a bit rough because of all the potion research she had done on the side. She heaved him up and he seemed happy to be taller than her again, but still inclined his head as thanks.

She nodded back and turned to their audience. Malfoy was looking at her with a calculating narrowing of his eyes, while Parkinson had a slight smirk and Greengrass looked outright delighted. The latter broke the distance between them and actually hugged Hermione, who stood very still, not sure if she was dreaming or not. The hug was short and their skins didn't come into contact but Daphne put her hands on her shoulders and took a step back. "I have wanted to do that for years, Granger," she said with a mischievous grin. "I think you can take his place and join our band of merry troublemakers, now. The tosser's got what he deserved."

"Daphne," Nott said in a warning tone, but she paid him no attention.

Hermione bit her lip, forcing down the laugh. "Right," she deadpanned. She now understood what the hug was all about: it was just to humiliate Zabini a bit further. Although she had shown him what she was made of, she didn't mind pushing him around a little bit more. "Thanks. Do I sign somewhere, or…?"

"Oh, Draco, that one _is _a gem," Daphne laughed, turning to her blond friend. "Who knew Gryffindors could actually get a joke, hm? How come we haven't even talked to each other before, Hermione? You have a _mean _Sectumsempra."

"Mudblood, remember?" Hermione replied, peeling the girl's hand away from her shoulders and turning away. "Let's go back. I'm fucking cold."

She strode towards the dark shade of the inn and heard the others walking behind her. Parkinson was talking to Nott in a low tone, but Hermione was too drunk and too angry to care - again. What had set this off this time? She felt like she was always angry these days. Whether it was about Ron or Harry or Molly fucking Weasley who had dragged her in the mud even though she had _told her _in private later that night what the divorce was _really _about. Granted, Hermione had snapped that Molly's son was worthless anyway and he was lucky that she had even looked at him during the last ten years, but _still._ She had thought that the woman would feel a bit worse about raising and loving a son who hit his wife.

She stopped her thoughts right there. The night out with the, ah— _merry band of troublemakers _was especially about forgetting the Weasleys. And yet, every time she tried to actually think about something else, it came back to her, week after week.

"Granger." She kept walking, her wand still lit. "_Hermione._"

"What, Greengrass?" she snapped, turning around. "I want a fucking drink and to be fucking warm."

"I never gave a fuck about the Mudblood thing," she said, annoyed. "Did I ever use that slur on you? No, I didn't, you idiot. I don't care. Never did. The Greengrasses were never Death Eaters. I actually have two half-blood cousins and they're still on the damn family tree. We. Don't. Care. I did call you a swot and a know-it-all, though, but to be fair, that's what you were. Now this lot is bigoted all right, and they're still my friends, mind you. But I'm neutral in this whole business."

Hermione didn't know what to say. The girl's blond hair was slightly mussed by the wind, and her lips and cheeks were red. Hermione thought she was much prettier than she had ever noticed in school. Embarrassed, she let out a small laugh. "I'm a bitch, aren't I?" she muttered.

"You are," Draco chimed in. "In all fairness, though, I did tell you they were used to _me _being a bitch. Now that you've duelled and let out some of this anger, let's get back inside and, I don't know, fuck or something," he said with a leer.

She laughed heartily because the whole idea was inconceivable to her, and she saw a small grin on his face.

She hadn't felt so alive in weeks.

* * *

_Thank you so much for the beautiful reviews you've left! I'm so glad you like it and hope you continue to do so after reading this second chapter. This is loads of fun to write anyway. _

_Reviews are love and love is much appreciated in this area of the world. _


	3. Chapter 3

They had all fallen asleep somewhere around five, in the cosy chairs that were in the small lounge of the inn. Daphne was comfortably settled on Theo's lap, her face nestled in his neck - Draco had sluggishly suggested they use first names from then on because although Granger was shorter than Her-miuh-nee, he could see that their resident Unspeakable was having trouble with elocution and _Parkinson _or _Zabini _was a bit more complicated than first names. So they all were chums now, she supposed.

Pansy had claimed the largest chair for her own use and was curled up in a tight ball that seemed uncomfortable but she seemed relaxed enough. Zabini was the only one that had had the common sense to make his way up the stairs and find an actual bed. And Hermione was in the last chair, her head resting on her arms, while Draco - calling him that was very, very odd, but she figured she'd get used to it - was passed out on the floor, his head resting on the side of her right leg.

"Shit," Hermione muttered, trying to straighten up. She fished her wand from the chair's cushions and waved it at her watch for it to stop making this insufferable noise. "Shit, shit, shit."

"Shut up, Granger," Theo said without opening his eyes. "Some of us don't have to worry about work and like to enjoy lie-ins."

Hermione shot him a nasty glare but tried to get up, hissing at the throbbing pain in her neck and back. Sleeping in a chair at past twenty was not ideal, far from it. "_Shit._" She took a step forward and Draco's head hit the floor with a dull _thud _and his eyes shot open in pain and annoyance. "Sorry, but I really have to go to work."

"Fucking hell, quit already," he replied, propping himself up on one elbow with a wince. "You hate it there anyway."

"Some of us don't own vaults full with Galleons and have to work for a living, tosser," she replied, annoyed. She wondered if she should step deliberately on his fingers but decided she didn't have time for this kind of thing. He smirked at her and rested his head back on the floor, apparently deciding it was comfortable enough for him not to get up and take her spot on the armchair. She sighed again, dismayed, and turned on the spot, apparating directly in her flat.

She barely had time for a shower and a glass of water and she felt her muscles protest against the strain of putting on clean clothes that did not smell of booze. She predicted the day would be awful.

And she was absolutely not wrong in this assessment.

She had gotten to work right on time, with circles under her eyes. Her hair, which had grown more submissive with the years, that made her remember her first teenage years. Thus, once she arrived in the Department of Mysteries and gotten to her desk - they did have desks, behind a door on the spinning room that only appeared for the authorized staff - she caught more than a few glances her way. She supposed it was only because of her appearance and didn't think of it.

"Hi, Hermione," grinned Piers when she sat down. He was sharing her office with her and was, in all fairness, one of the coworkers she disliked the most. "Had a good night yesterday?"

"Yeah, all right," she said distractedly while sorting through her papers. "I stayed for a while after the others left."

"I was told." His grin was getting broader. "Read the paper today?" Hermione froze and lifted her gaze slowly. She finally remembered. Oh, Merlin. _Skeeter must have printed something. _"Ha! You haven't, right? Hey, Anna, you owe me three sickles! She didn't read the paper!"

Anna's laugh rung from the open door and Hermione kept staring. "Well, spit it out then," she snapped. "What's in the fucking paper again?"

He tossed her the rolled-up waste of ink and paper and she picked it up on the floor where it had landed. She was not her most synchronized self, unsurprisingly.

_HERMIONE GRANGER SEEN WITH DRACO MALFOY_

_Hermione Granger has been seen yesterday evening with Draco Malfoy, the son of Lucius Malfoy, who has been convicted to a life sentence in Azkaban in the summer of 1998. She was inebriated and apparently quite vindicative, but this reporter was able to share a few words with her. _

_If you have read my articles the past few years, you know all about Hermione Granger already. Bright Muggle-Born witch, best friends with Harry Potter - although they seem to have fallen out recently, because of her divorce with Ronald Weasley, see details on page 7. She has been through hell and back with her friends, helping save us from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, for which we are extremely grateful. _

_But while Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley have taken on starting an Auror training, and are currently brilliant Aurors that are working on keeping our beautiful country safe, Granger has decided to go on a more obscure career. She went into training with the Unspeakables and has never made any comment about what she did in the entrails of the Ministry. _

_But why, do you ask, has she spent last night with Draco Malfoy, of all people? Well, they seemed close enough, and my sources tell me that this particular 'friendship' is the reason behind hers and Ron Weasley's divorce! They tell me that the Death Eater son and the Wonder Girl have had their affair for quite sometime before the fallout of the couple. When asked, Granger threatened to hex your faithful reporter and has been seen leaving Diagon Alley with Draco Malfoy, and them Disapparating away. One can only wonder how long this has really been going on and how Hermione Granger could do that to her husband of four years. _

_What's more, Granger actually antagonized the other patrons at _Miller's_, the bar where she had been drinking. She told them that they could _'all go to hell'_, among other unsavoury things. But she was also heard saying to Malfoy that her job at the Ministry was '_terrible', _which this reporter is sure Mr Gallander, the Head of the Department of Mysteries, will be delighted to know. _

_Ms Blenswithe, from Dorset, says, _'I am not sure why Mr. Weasley ever married her in the first place. Maybe a love potion? She is not particularly pretty, and she doesn't really seem his type. To be honest, I'm just glad he has finally gotten rid of her'. _Harsh words, but if the affair between Granger and Malfoy has been going on for quite some time as every evidence leads us to believe, those are particularly deserved. The question then is: we know Granger helped the Saviour of the Wizarding World with Draco and Narcissa Malfoy's trial, but what exactly was her motive? _

_For more information on the aforementioned trial, turn to page 7._

Hermione stared at the paper and crumpled it without really realizing what she was doing. Her vision blurred with angry tears and she shook her head slightly, willing them to vanish without actually raising a hand to rub at her eyes - that would be just too obvious. She still had a pounding headache from her night of heavy drinking and her palate felt dry and sore. "So," Piers said with barely concealed glee, "you and the Malfoy scion, eh?"

"Not at all," she managed to say in a clipped tone, throwing the newspaper away and trying to control herself so she wouldn't accidentally make it burst into flames. Accidental magic was not acceptable at her age. "This paper is slandering and always has been, but I absolutely don't have to make any justifications to you, of all people."

"As you wish," he smirked, and she resisted the urge to hex his stupid face and make him throw stupid slugs as Ron had during their Second Year. "But whatever. The boss wants to see you in his office."

She glared at him as if he was the one responsible for her slip up in public about how exactly she hated her job. Thank Merlin she had waited until she was in Draco's weird inn before elaborating on that particular fact. She got up a bit too fast and raised a hand to her forehead to prevent the world from spinning too much, and Piers snorted before sitting down at his own desk, sorting through papers while throwing her thrilled glances.

"You wanted to see me, sir."

"Ah, yes. Granger. Come in, sit down. We have a problem."

Of course, they did. Gallander always had a problem. Hermione thought that even when he would be dead he would figure out a way to have another fucking problem. She sighed and obeyed her superior, who was watching her grouchily from behind his stern, McGonagall-like glasses. "Sir?" she inquired finally.

"What was the bullshit you pulled in the Prophet, Granger?" Oh. So that was it was all about. She should have seen it coming, really, but her mind still feels slow from Draco's firewhiskey. "Is your job terrible now?"

Hermione took a deep breath and fought the urge to pick at her nails. She had finally beaten the habit after years of school nervousness and was not about to go back to having ugly hands because of this arsehole and his whole stupid Department. "I was merely stating a personal opinion," she ended up saying, her voice as firm and serene as she could manage. "I was not aware that it was forbidden, sir."

"Don't play smart with me, Hermione," Gallander frowned. "This is not the Auror corps. This is not the fucking Department of Sports. You're not allowed to say _anything _about us, and that includes your personal opinions of what you do for a living. You'll have to speak to the papers."

"_Excuse me_?"

"You heard me. You're going to go to the Prophet's office and ask for Rita Skeeter and you're going to bloody well say that 'terrible' was not what you meant and that you _enjoy_ it here."

"What the fuck is this, an Orwell book?" she asked, dumbfounded. "Are you kidding me, Gallander? I'm not going to _grovel _in front of Rita _fucking _Skeeter of all people —"

"You'll do what you're told and you're going to —"

"— I'm not a puppet, Merlin's sagging —"

"SHUT UP!"

Her eyes narrowed and her hand shook with just the right movement unconsciously and her wand was held between her fingers but she didn't quite raise it to his face despite the desire to hex his face in very tiny bits. "_What_?" she whispered dangerously and he breathed heavily through his nose.

"Shut _up._ This isn't about your stupid ego, Granger. This is about the Ministry being united in front of adversity, especially coming from Unspeakables."

"Then sod off. All of you. The Ministry, _you_, Gallander, the Unspeakables. I'm fucking out of here."

"_What_?"

"You heard me. I'm sick of this shit. I thought we were trying to do something important here but turns out we're not. You're all just lazy and sitting on what better wizards researched decades ago and you pretend you're doing an important job. How does it feel, being Kingsley's lapdog?" she hissed, pushing an annoying strand of hair out of her face. "I don't _care_. I've given enough for this goddamn country. Where were you, Gallander, during the war? I don't owe you _shit._"

"Now listen here," he started, but she finally raised her wand and he shut up.

"_You_ listen. You've all been arseholes since I divorced Ronald. We're supposed to be a fucking team. I'm going up to see Shacklebold and you're going to bloody let me if you don't want me to hex your balls. Got it?"

She didn't wait for an answer and turned around before striding away from his office. She entered the room she shared with Piers and waved her wand to gather her belongings into a conjured box. It felt cliché, but it felt good. Her favourite cup joined the few patents she had been able to develop during her time there, and the picture of her parents, and the research she had been working on between two shifts and verification routines. Piers opened his mouth but she still had a wand in her hand so he didn't dare to say anything rude.

"I'm out of here. Try to be a bit less of a prick with your next teammate."

She waved her wand again in a silent levitation charm and the box rose in the air, obediently following her all the way up to Kingsley's office.

* * *

She closed her eyes warily when she stepped into the Atrium. She had done it. She was free. Draco had told her a few hours before that she should just quit and she had done it. She wondered what she was going to do, but actually she didn't really care: she wouldn't be an Unspeakable anymore, and that felt _good._

A few glances were shot her way but she paid them no attention. Hermione had almost reached the fireplaces to Floo away to her flat when a hand caught her arm.

"What the hell, Hermione? Did you really quit? What's that business with Malfoy? Kingsley just told me."

"Hi, Harry," she sighed, turning to face her best friend. His hair was messy as per usual and his eyes were worried behind his round glasses. He was wearing his Auror robes. "Yeah, I really quit. I couldn't deal with this place anymore. It's funny, isn't it, us working for the Ministry? I should have known I wouldn't really want to work for the ones that have tracked us for months during the war."

"Come on, Hermione," he said with a slight roll of his eyes, "we've been through this. The Ministry has changed, it's Kingsley in charge now."

"Maybe. Doesn't change the fact that Gallander asked me to apologize to Skeeter and beg for a rectification, though. And besides, I just don't want to work here anymore. With everything that has happened… It's just too much. Now I'll be going if that's alright."

"Hermione," Harry said sternly. "I understand. It's boring there, isn't it? But that doesn't explain why you said so to _Malfoy_."

"_Draco_," she said primly, secretly enjoying the look of horror and hatred flashing on Harry's face, "has actually been very nice yesterday evening. So have his friends, as a matter of fact."

"But you can't trust him, Hermione. You can't go around telling him stuff about your life. You can't fix this mess between you and Ron with Malfoy, whatever it is the two of you are doing. Are you _dating _or something?"

"No, Harry, we're not. And what happened with Ron was beyond messy. You've barely been here for me. Always trying to fix things. He _hit _me, Harry. He hit me because I said I didn't want to have his children."

"Come _on, _Hermione, it was just a _slap,_" Harry said in an aggravated tone before going very still when he realized what he had just said. Hermione's eyes narrowed and she pinched her lips together, drawing a bit straighter. She fought the tears building in her eyes and nodded once, then again.

"Right," she said in a strangled but cold, so cold voice. "Right then. You know what? Fuck you. Just side with your violent prick of a best mate. Stay with your narrow-minded wife. Fuck. You. And leave me and whoever I chose to befriend alone. You and I are _done._"

She left before he was able to say anything else.

* * *

_Yay, more 'Mad Hermione'! I hope you liked it. I liked writing it. Also, I love your reviews. See that hint? _

_See ya soon, _

_Percy_


	4. Chapter 4

She couldn't bear to stay in her flat so she just paced her living room for a few minutes before taking her cloak and Apparating away. She hadn't really put much thought about the Destination aspect of the process, and didn't really want to be _anywhere_ really, just outside of the place that reeked of loneliness and the falling out with Harry and Crookshank's absence.

It was, she pondered, not much of a surprise to end up in Wiltshire again. The abandoned inn was the only place she had felt at ease in weeks and she was growing fond of it alarmingly fast.

But she noted that the building was in a very bad state, at least from the outside. She hadn't been able to see it properly last night. The old sign was dangling on barely two screws and was very close from falling on the ground, and a few windows were cracked. The wood was rotting and she was pretty sure that some of the plumbing was leaking somewhere on the first floor. Fishing out her wand from her sleeve, she waved it around, fixing what she could see.

Hermione was not a carpenter, far from it, but she was able to spell some new colour to the wood and refresh the paint, repairing the windows and fixing the sign back up above the door, and she was actually enjoying herself, finding comfort in the silent incantations and wand waving that Snape would have sneered at. And then, the newly-repaired door flung open and a very hungover and disheveled Draco Malfoy squinted at her, confused.

"The hell, Hermione?" he asked with a quirk of his pale eyebrow. The shy morning sun was casting beautiful rays on his almost white hair and she grinned.

"This place is falling apart and I don't want the roof to collapse on my head," she said simply. "Come on, give me a hand."

"No, you're crazy," he said disbelievingly. "I actually have fucking house elves and more Galleons than your nerdy head could even count in a lifetime and you're out there doing the staff's work."

"You're such a snob," she snorted. "Come on. It's… _cathartic._"

"Granger, I don't _need _catharsis. I'm not the one with shitty friends and a shitty job. You come on and have a drink before you wake Pansy up. She's not a morning person."

"It's not even noon. I'm not drinking anything alcoholic before late afternoon."

"What are you doing here anyway?" he yawned before beckoning her in and she followed, although she wasn't quite sure why. "Don't you have a job?"

"Not anymore," she chirped brightly, hiding the fact that her encounter with Harry still made her feel like shit. "I took your advice and quit."

"Did you now?" he sounded somewhat impressed. "Okay. How did it go?"

"How did _what _go, Granger? I do hope you have a good reason for waking us up at this ungodly hour."

"I quit. I'm not an Unspeakable anymore and they were so baffled they didn't even make me take an oath to keep their little secrets."

"Hmm," Pansy replied, leaning on the corridor's wall. "That's interesting. Not enough, though. You owe me. I'm up and not getting back to sleep." She waved her wand and produced an awful, screeching sound. Hermione shot her a reproachful look and put her hands on her ears, and Pansy smiled. "If I'm up, they deserve to be, too," she mouthed, and Hermione actually _giggled._ That felt surreal, to laugh on such a day.

* * *

She didn't actually keep her word. Draco coaxed her into accepting a whisky at lunch, which had been brought by a house elf whose name was Nimm and had been sent there by Narcissa Malfoy, of all people, with enough food to keep the six of them fed for two days. The servant had bowed and said that his Mistress was hoping the young Master was keeping his guests fed. Hermione had thanked the elf and the others had snorted and laughed while the creature bursted in tears.

"Nimm seems happy enough," Hermione remarked while sipping her drink. "What happened to abusing slaves in your household?"

"My father learned his lessons after Dobby, I guess," Draco muttered. Theo laughed.

"Right," the lanky man said. "I guess having your servants blabbering about secret plans to Harry fucking Potter does that to someone, huh?"

"_Anyway_," Draco continued, louder this time, all the while throwing Theo a warning glance, "they're more helpful when they're not afraid of being terribly punished all the time. Don't get your knickers in a snit, Granger. Although we are most definitely _not _paying them. They're happy there. Always tittering about being so, so happy with working for such a noble family."

Blaise muttered something rude and Draco flashed him his middle finger. Hermione snorted a bit of burning liquour through her nose and coughed loudly until Daphne patted her back and she found her breath. The others were laughing but still, this dusty, old place felt more like home than her own flat.

* * *

"Why did you leave Weasley, Hermione?" Daphne asked later, as the sun was setting down and the boys were off doing ridiculously dangerous things on their broom. Pansy had tagged along with them and was playing cheerleader, throwing them hexes and laughing wildly when one hit and swears erupted from the airs. She apparently switched favourites every few minutes, and prided herself with greatly influencing the game, without even needing to get her arse on a broom.

Hermione bit her lip and threw the blonde woman a sideways glance. She seemed genuinely interested in her question, and not in a malicious way, either. But she ought to be careful with Slytherins, and nothing guaranteed that she wouldn't go and blab to the press. Still. Hermione stretched her feet on the soft rug Draco had apparently nicked from his parents', enjoying the warmth of the roaring fire over them. "Can I trust you with that?" she asked eventually, her tone emotionless and staring at the flames. "I don't want it to become common knowledge."

Daphne sighed and turned to her, curling her legs under her on the armchair. "Granger, we're… Well, not quite friends yet, but… I like you, all right? You're smart and witty and could've been in my dorm had you not been a Muggle-Born with a streak of bravery. Slytherins aren't blindly loyal to everyone like Hufflepuffs but we're good at keeping secrets for the ones that matter."

"Alright," Hermione sighed again, before turning to her not-quite-friend. "He slapped me. Hard. After two years of almost constant fights and emotional abuse, I was done."

"The bastard," Daphne sniffed disdainfully. "He should be the one trashed in the press, not you. I suppose the Golden Boy dismissed it?"

"Yeah. That's kind of why I'm here today, actually. I couldn't bear… I've been his friend for more than ten years and now he's choosing Ron again. Even when they had their stupid fight in Fourth Year I was the fucking owl between them, delivering message and desperately hoping they'd go back to being friends because I wanted things to be normal. I didn't have a lot of friends, and Harry didn't either, and he was my best friend for so long. But I just can't compete with Ronald fucking Weasley." She flexed her fingers, feeling the well-known anger rise up again. "Now half of my friends won't talk to me anymore and I'm being chummy with you guys."

"Well, no one here is going to choose Weasley over you, that's for sure," Daphne said with a smirk.

It was the moment the men — well, _boys_, really, discheveled as they were and red from the cold and effort — chose to come back inside, followed by a positively cackling Pansy. Blaise was muttering something under his breath about the foul, foul witch that was definitely unfair, and Theo was laughing at him, while Draco was observing the two of them with a very Snape-ish raised eyebrow. "Gossiping, are you?" he asked in an amused voice.

"Hardly," Daphne sniffed. "Barely commenting your sport exploits, dearest."

"I'm the only person you're allowed to call dearest, except from your sister," Theo said from the entrance where he had been teasing Blaise. Daphne rolled her eyes and grinned at Draco, who winked at her.

* * *

"So," Draco said slowly, eyeing the blond woman. "What's her deal then. Why did she leave Weasley."

"I won't tell you, Malfoy," Daphne said without looking up from the plates she was examining. Yes, they would do. The elves in the Malfoy household were good, she had to admit it. Probably better than her own. That made her frown.

"No, really," Draco insisted, leaning on the counter. "She won't tell me and she's behaving like a hurt animal everytime I bring this up. She's been living here for a week now. She hasn't gone back home except to pick up some clothes. Something's really wrong."

"She's having a hard time," Daphne shot back. A trilling laugh from Hermione, followed by Theo's, informed her that Draco had managed to trick his best friend into distracting her for a few minutes. They were about to have dinner and the elves had just delivered the course. "She doesn't need you fucking swooping on her private life. Plus, everybody somehow knows her adress — well, Weasley leaked it, more like — and she doesn't want to deal with Skeeter and her kind."

"Yeah, but she won't talk about him at all. I'm beginning to think he's hurt her, Daph."

"He has," Daphne said, setting down the china she had been examining and looking at him dead in the eye. "Quite a lot, actually. But I'm not the one who should tell you anything, Draco, so lay off. She'll tell you if she wants to tell you. You guys were enemies at Hogwarts, and she's learned not to give her trust freely the hard way. Also, she was tortured in your fucking manor."

"Well, boo-hoo. I've been tortured in my fucking manor, too."

"Not the same, and you know it," Daphne shot back, eyeing his left sleeved arm with distate. He squirmed and she made a shoo motion with her hand. "Go sit with the others, I'm going to levitate the plates on the table and you're in the way."

"Does Theo know you're such a bitch?" he whined, complying nonetheless.

"Actually, I think I might be the nicest of you lot," she dimpled before swishing his wand and making him stumble on the uneven floor towards the dining room.

* * *

Hermione couldn't bear to go back to her flat so she didn't and let her landlord know that she would have her stuff out of the building in a month. She didn't quite know where she would be living from then on, but Draco didn't seem to want her anywhere else and well, she wouldn't want to be a disappointment.

It felt nice, in the old bed and breakfast that had been transformed into a snake den. She didn't have to worry about work and could actually rest and enjoy sleeping until ten. Of course, she drank a bit much, but since she was an adept potioneer there really was no real hangover to be dealt with. She had also bought a few construction and consolidation oriented books and was adamant on making the place more livable and repairing it structurally speaking so it wouldn't collapse over her head.

She was polite to the elves and pleasant to her new friends and she figured that was why Draco hadn't driven her out yet. It was like a giant flatsharing and felt great especially since most of them were loaded with Galleons so there wasn't any petty bickering about who paid for what.

Hermione had restored the wood structure and strengthened it with runes and spells and the windows had been charmed so they were more solid and could actually keep the warmth in. The chimneys had been cleaned and the bedrooms extended with a charm quite similar to the one she had applied to her beaded bag all those years ago, which meant they were all equipped with a functioning bathroom and a small lounge. The kitchens had been cleaned and Draco had paid about a hundred Galleons so it would be re equipped and Blaise had brought in an elf called Alina from one of his estates in Italy. Hermione had grumbled at that quite a lot but Alina seemed delighted to live there and well, after living with Kreacher for months she knew that the creatures were basically designed to love being enslaved and frankly she had other things on her mind.

Working on the bed and breakfast allowed her to stop wondering what she'd do next. But she was a proficient witch and everything was done and she had no idea what she would do. Eventually, as Theo and Daphne were out and Pansy had coaxed Blaise into treating her to dinner as well, Hermione cornered Draco in the kitchen.

"Um, Draco" she hesitated. He raised an eyebrow at her tone and she glared before leaning against the magical stove. "I… Well I've been here for a while now and I'd understand if you wanted me to leave now. I don't want to impose."

He gave her an amused look. "Took you long enough to fret about this bullshit. Look, Hermione. Theo and Daph are here all the time. Blaise and Pansy, too. They live here now, virtually. Just see this as a lost souls inn so you'll feel at home and stop worrying about that."

She glared at him out of principle but smiled right after that. She knew him enough that she was sure he would find a way to tell her if she imposed, after all, and the others were indeed there most of the time. "Still," she said in a chirpy kind of voice. "I should repay you somehow."

"Oh," he smirked, leaning back on the counter, eyeing her up and down. "Things could be arranged."

"Do kindly fuck off. I retract any willingness to pay you back."

"Worth a try," he shrugged. "But really, we're all messed up, more or less, so you're welcome to stay here indefinitely. The elves adore you anyway."

"They do, don't they," she said, wrinkling her nose thoughtfully. "I suppose it's because I didn't try to free them. It does wonders on their personalities. Also, you know. Saying hello."

"Well, Granger," Blaise said from behind them, a smirk on his face. "I don't say hello and they're perfectly polite to me, too."

"It's just because they have a natural, righteous fear of inbred aristocrats," she said brightly, beaming at him.

"I'm deeply wounded," he said, putting a hand on his heart. "But also, it's very accurate, although I'm sure Nott here would be positively terrifying to them."

"Oh, please," Draco drawled, "Nott is hardly terrifying."

Hermione hummed, frowning slightly and staring at the oven. "What should I do with my life now?" she asked suddenly. "I have no job and I live with you lot. For now. But I don't have substantial savings, no family, what am I going to do?"

"Have a drink and a seat," Blaise said, taking her by the shoulders and leading her to the room they had called the lounge. "It's okay, Hermione. You'll be alright."

"I won't though," she said faintly, accepting the glass Pansy pressed into her hands. "I can't reasonably live from your money," she added, looking directly at Draco. "I can't. Not because you're a slimy Slytherin or other stupid bullshit like that, but just because it's not… It's not me."

"I know," he smiled thoughtfully. "Still, you have as much time as you need to figure it out, okay? Nobody is going to throw you out. Take your time."

"Why are you being so nice?"

"In all fairness, you have been tortured in my own manor, and I have made mistakes. I realize… That you're not quite what I thought you was back in school, and you're… I don't know. Nice? Stop asking stupid question and just take this kindness," he ended up saying irritably.

"What Drakey-dear is trying to say," Theo laughed from his quiet corner of the room, "is that he's trying to get in your pants."

"That, my friend," Hermione said solemnly, "is a fool errand's."

Theo toasted her at that.

* * *

_Here's the fourth chapter! Please tell me what's on your mind after all this. I hope you like it and that you're safe! _


End file.
